


If You Go Chasing Rabbits

by crackleviolet



Series: Victorian Mystic Messenger [1]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 10:40:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9380876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackleviolet/pseuds/crackleviolet
Summary: A while ago, I decided that I needed Mr Darcy Jumin Han and Mr Rochester Jihyun Kim in my life. If I adapted all of the routes, though, I'd need to adapt a universal opening. That's this.





	

**IT IS A TRUTH UNIVERSALLY ACKNOWLEDGED, THAT A SINGLE MAN IN POSSESSION OF A GOOD FORTUNE MUST BE IN WANT OF A WIFE**

Old words, and pretty, and decidedly not hers.

Areum had little time for the single men of good fortune who so commonly came to visit, which was fortunate, for they had very little time to spare for her. It was her lot in life to rise with the lark and worry only for the good china and it did not matter that her lips were plump and rosy, nor that she pinned her hair so tightly that it made the fairness of her face only more apparent. She was a maid and nothing more and if a gentleman were to look at her, he paid her no more mind than he would the drapes.

Areum was one of five maids with a particular focus on the whims of the daughters of her mistress, Lady Finchley, who had taken to spending more and more time in her London apartments than ever before.

In her youth, the lady of the house was a plain sort, who beguiled very few men with her face but became the belle of the ballroom regardless, for she was in possession of a sharp tongue and indelicate humour and remembered the names of everyone’s third cousins. She married a soldier in the end, who was arguably equally ugly, but had the gentlest voice of anyone Areum had ever encountered.

Their resulting daughters were beautiful but inherited none of Lord or Lady Finchley’s personal charms. Catherine, Annette, Margaret and Rebecca spent their childhoods dragging one another by the hair, smashing another’s toys to pieces, sobbing in jealousy over the pretty dress one sister was permitted to wear and they were not, only to plan for it to meet with an accident. Now that they were out of girlhood, they had, for the most part, abandoned their personal differences and sought the attentions of the ballroom, where they teamed up to drag other girls by the hair, smash the possessions of other girls to pieces, sob in jealousy at the fashionable dresses other girls were permitted to wear and, most importantly, to plot for other women to meet with accidents.

On this occasion Annette, who was the oldest and arguably most loathsome of the four, had discovered offense in the blossoming relationship between her childhood friend Effy and the handsome Dr Ingram, who hailed from the Scottish highlands and up until recently had been keeping quarters with Effy's father, who was not only a highly experienced physician, but a kind soul and more than happy to welcome somebody new into the chaos of London’s elite.

His arrival sparked a myriad of rumours and although it could not be proven, Areum would have been willing to bet that most of them came from Annette. Annette who had laughed and laughed when Effy expressed concern at the strange man from Scotland coming to live with her family, only to fall silent at the revelation that his family had a castle. It was only a matter of time before she decided that she rather liked the idea of a castle of her own-the husband little more than a stepping stone-and at every dance afterwards, she had gone out of her way to be amiable to make a good impression upon Dr Ingram.

A pointless effort, as Effy’s latest letter was to ask advice. Since moving into his new apartments, the doctor and Effy had shared many letters and a great affection had grown between them. Effy was unsure how best to proceed, though unfortunately the same could not be said of Annette.

“Of course we’ll have to get rid of her,” she sniffed, slapping Areum’s hands away the moment the brush tugged. “The question is how.”

The question was almost entirely rhetorical, though she went so far as to pretend to think.

“I’ve got it,” she said, after one whole minute of pretend deliberation. “We shall invite her over for tea tomorrow.”

“And then?” Margaret chirruped.

“And then I shall offer her my warmest wishes, naturally.”

Catherine glanced at Margaret, who turned to Rebecca. Not one of them believed Annette truly wished Effy the best, but they were incapable of piecing together her plan from that single piece of information.

“We shall have Effy script a letter to her good doctor,” said Annette, doubtless feeling smug in being the undivided centre of attention. “A confession that she shall write by hand and send out over the afternoon post. However, before she sends it, we’ll have one of the staff replace the letter in the envelope with one of our own design. That letter shall be filled with all sorts of terrible lies.”

The sisters laughed raucously at this prospect and Areum sighed as she arranged Rebecca’s hair.

“What sort of lies, Netty?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Annette shrugged. “That she dances naked in Soho or licked an urchin.”

“We should have her say she’s Jack the Ripper!” Catherine squealed.

“Quite,” said Annette, in the sort of tone that made Areum shudder. “In any case, the good doctor won’t speak to her again and she may even leave London. That fixes my problem most wonderfully, don’t you say?”

And in a way, Areum agreed. Sometimes their logic was such that even she could not find fault in it. It was certainly true that if Effy retired to her family’s estate in Sussex, she would no longer represent a threat. But Areum found herself worrying what such a strategy would mean for the maidservant who switched the notes.

* * *

The housekeeper of Lord and Lady Finchley’s London estate was a stout, red faced woman named Mrs Ridgebit, who knew the value of everything, be it a good glass of port, a leg of lamb or a six year old child. The first time they met, Mrs Ridgebit had refused to buy her at full price.

Mrs Ridgebit abided by the old fashioned divisions between serving staff and residing family and more often than not, she had no tolerance for stories about the misbehaviour of Lady Finchley’s daughters. She was not their mother and it was not her place to intervene. At best she tolerated jokes about their misdeeds in the serving quarters. Even so, Areum hoped that perhaps she would say something or perhaps even devise a counter plan now that there was so much on the line.

Unfortunately, she was possessed of a foul mood when Areum eventually found her in the kitchens. The same thunderous rage that seemed to have become a part of her ever since Lord Finchley’s strange behaviour of late.

In all of the time she had known him, Areum had never considered him pious or even remotely opinionated and very recently, she had never known him to spend an extended amount of time studying the bare bones of theology either. However, three weeks beforehand, he had called at the home of Major Gregory and returned inspired by the words of a young man he encountered in the smoking room. It seemed there was a precedent, for Major Gregory, it transpired, had also been introduced to the stranger about a week or so earlier at a dance hosted by General Hurst.

Mrs Ridgebit made it quite clear that Areum and the other maids were not to stick their noses in the master’s business, though they did not have to to pick up on the smaller details. An argument between Lord and Lady Finchley about donations to a church building effort outside of the city; an off hand description of the man’s strange looks; a pamphlet Areum spotted while tidying the study that must have been from the group that Lord Finchley spoke of. Areum could not read in the same effortless manner as Annette or Rebecca, but she could tell that it spoke about a world without pain or suffering. She almost wished that she had not seen it, for it was stamped with the symbol of a bright green eye and brought a chill to her spine that never quite left her.

If that was what the master’s friend spoke of, however, and was the reason for him behaving so uncharacteristically of late, then Areum thought she understood. Lord Finchley lost part of his left leg during his military career and the wound had healed incorrectly, leaving him in constant discomfort. Effy’s father had prescribed a seemingly infinite supply of potions and teas in an effort to placate him, but beyond going back to France and retrieving whatever parts of his body and soul he had left behind, it seemed there was to be no miracle cure any time soon.

Very much at the last minute, Lord Finchley had decided to invite the peculiar young man for a dinner party, leaving Mrs Ridgebit the momentous task of reshuffling all prior meal arrangements.

“Unless you’ve a ham hock hidden up your skirt, girl, I’ve nothing for you!” She said, in lieu of a proper greeting. “Grab that basket.”

She had previously been occupied in a squabble with the cook and took the opportunity to point to the basket most often used for groceries. Areum hoisted it into her arms automatically, presuming that one of the kitchen maids meant to take a trip into town. However, neither the cook nor Mrs Ridgebit accepted the basket and instead it was Areum herself who received the slip of paper detailing everything missing from the larder that was required for the night’s proceedings to be a success.

“What was he thinking?” The cook sighed, shaking her head.

“I’d send one of the younger girls,” said Mrs Ridgebit, “but you’re the only one who can read.”

Areum wanted to warn her about the Annette’s plans, but all things considered, she decided it would be far more prudent to wait until after the dinner party instead. Effy was not scheduled to visit until the next day, after all and perhaps in the aftermath of everything that had taken place, everyone would be more willing to listen to her concerns.

“All right,” she said, taking the small bag of coins from Mrs Ridgebit. “I’ll make sure to be back within the hour.”

Despite her title, Mrs Ridgebit was not married and she carried few in the way of trinkets besides the silver pocket watch she wore on a chain, most often used to double check that the serving staff were working to schedule. One of the other girls said it belonged to a lover; a different girl said it was a gift from Lady Finchley upon her residence as housekeeper. Areum had a strong suspicion that the truth was a little of both.

When Mrs Ridgebit unhooked the pocket watch and passed it to Areum, the significance did not escape her and for a moment she was unable to do anything but stare at the scratches in the silver.

“Well?” Snarled Mrs Ridgebit. “Go!!”

* * *

In her haste to leave the house, Areum did not know how it was she remembered to pick up her shawl. Even as she arrived at town, she was in a daze. She ought not have been surprised when she bumped shoulders with a stranger, sending her shopping basket-and the rosy apples within it- tumbling to the floor.

“Oh, oh I’m so sorry!” Areum squeaked, cursing her strange state of mind and falling to her knees to pick them up.

The stranger’s top hat had fallen to the floor during the collision and if the expensive nature of his clothes were anything to go by, then he was almost certainly of quality blood. To avoid offending the man even further, Areum made a point to keep her eyes low. He had other ideas, though, and knelt down beside her to pick up one of the apples.

“I am most offended, Miss,” he said, laughing. “Here, I shall take this as my reward. Of course…”

He slipped two fingers under her chin and she had no choice but to look into his face.

“I would much rather take you to paradise.”

The first thing to grab her attentions were his eyes. They were of the same resplendent green as the stamp on Lord Finchley’s pamphlet and equally as unnerving. She found herself staring into them for far longer than was necessary and almost certainly appropriate. His hair was a bright white and shone in the sunlight, bringing to mind all manner of strange things, though Areum found herself thinking of the absurdly white rabbits the Finchley girls each insisted upon dressing up in ribbons and chasing around the house.

He noticed her blushing and laughed raucously, climbing to his feet and offering her a hand too. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that the man Lord Finchley was so oddly besotted with and had captured his interests so completely with pamphlets about a world without pain was one with white hair and bright green eyes.

And for that reason alone she felt even more self conscious about staring at him.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, lowering herself into a curtsy. “Although, I…I should be going now. I’m going to be-”

At some point, though she could not gather when, he had slipped a piece of paper into her hand. A piece of paper that only confirmed her previous suspicions, for it was the same pamphlet she had discovered in Lord Finchley’s possession, only markedly more recent. Almost immediately, she looked up to ask something of the stranger, only to realise that she had missed her window of opportunity and he had already almost disappeared along the opposite street, with nothing more than the gleam of his bright hair to distinguish him at all.

For the first time, she thought she understood all of those instances that Lord Finchley had been unable to stay quiet about his looks. To say that he was unusual seemed too simple and Areum found herself suddenly curious about him. What was his name and where was he going? Was he married and of a good character? She watched his retreating back for several minutes and it was with a good deal of reluctance that she looked at Mrs Ridgebit’s watch.

* * *

As a maid, Areum was somewhat skilled at being seen only when she desired it. It was not difficult to follow the stranger to a shop of antiquities, her previous errand all but forgotten. She was not sure why she followed him. At first it was out of some strange and largely unwelcome desire to know his name, but later-after checking the pocket watch once and then twice and realising she was going to be late-it was the conviction that perhaps the young man might reveal something about Lord Finchley’s strange behaviour.

The antiques shop was closed for the day, though the stranger opened the front door without any effort at all and Areum lingered on a nearby corner for several minutes to wait and see what happened. Perhaps he meant to open up the store or had been on an errand of some sort, as she had. She stood there for quite some time, though, expecting him to come out with some object or another or to open up the doors to the public. He did not come out at all, though, and she knew from checking the time that five minutes had passed before she thought to check.

Oh, how she wished she had not followed him! She approached the shop and peered through the windows in search of any signs of movement, though found nothing in the end. It was as if the stranger had disappeared.

Areum considered that she still had time to go back to the house and apologise for her lateness. If she left at that very moment, she might even get the chance to think up a particularly good lie. The other girls were always complaining of long lines at the market and she had never once been dishonest. She considered it even as she reached for the door of the antiques shop and stepped inside, examining the curious items that littered every corner of the room: paintings and statues of long forgotten gods and music boxes and more. Areum might have spent hours in that room examining each single oddity were it not for the red velvet curtain that divided up the shop floor from the rest of the building.

She could hear voices behind it. More than one, discussing something in a conversational tone.

Areum pulled back the curtain, wondering if she would see the stranger on the other side…

…and behind her, the front door to the shop slammed shut.

Areum gasped, peering back to see what lay beyond the curtain, just in time for someone to hold a handkerchief over her face.

* * *

When Areum came to, she was sitting on a chair in a draughty room and someone held smelling salts to her nose.

“This isn’t why I became a doctor, you know,” someone said, moving the salts the moment she began to open her eyes. “She’s going to think I’m a common criminal!”

“She _is_ a common criminal,” said someone else. “And _you’re_ not a doctor yet.”

Someone bit into an apple.

“She’s pretty though,” they said with their mouth full.

Areum opened her eyes and took in her surroundings, as well as the people within it; all strangers to her, as it transpired. Immediately to her left, a golden haired gentleman placed the smelling salts back inside of what appeared to be a doctor’s bag, while on the right, an absurdly handsome white haired man in brightly coloured clothes carried on eating one of the apples from her basket. At the back of the room was a darker haired, stern looking man, who she guessed was the one to call her a common criminal.  

“I…” She said. “Who are you people? I have to-”

“Where is Luciel? I would have him take her to the station immediately.”

“Don’t be an ass, Jumin! We don’t know that she’s done anything wrong.”

“I agree with Zen! That seems excessive.”

The one named Zen finished off the apple he had been eating and tossed the core into the fire, before crossing the room to give her a bow, complete with many flourishes of the wrist. He was even more handsome up close and Areum wished that her head was not nearly so fuzzy so that she could admire him properly.

“My name is Zen,” he said. “Not my real name, mind! Barely anyone knows that!”

At the back of the room, Jumin guffawed. Zen largely ignored him, however.

“The arse over there is Jumin Han. He’s the fifth richest man in the country and owns half of Derbyshire..although I’m not sure which half. I’m sure it’s whichever half think it’s better than the other.”

Mr Han did not respond to that particular insult and Zen pointed to the doctor, who by then had finished packing away his medical supplies.

“Man with the chloroform is Yoosung Kim, which…” He frowned. “Why do you have that, anyway? You aren’t in class today.”

“Luciel said there were muggers on the streets!” Yoosung said, wide-eyed. “The last time I tried to learn self defense, my sister gave me a black eye.”

The prospect of getting mugged seemed to leave him shaken and he went back through his medical bag for the smelling salts.

“Tell me, then,” said Zen, leaning into Areum’s face and leaving her blanched from the sheer impropriety of it all. “What is your name?”

“I…” She said. “I….”

She did not answer, however, for at that moment two others entered the room. The first was a woman with light brown hair, who appeared to be in the process of noting something down in a small leather book. The other was a man with red hair, who pulled a pair of eyeglasses from his pocket the moment he stepped into the room.

“Fascinating,” he said, shoving Zen out of the way to kneel down in front of her. Meanwhile, the woman with the book walked over to show Mr Han whatever it was that she had written down.

“I checked our inventory,” she said. “Nothing is missing.”

“Hmmm,” said Mr Han. “Check it again.”

“All of it, sir?”

“All of it.”

She watched as the other woman left the room, defeated, only to gasp as the redhead kneeling before her took hold of her ankle.

“I-sir!” Areum cried out. “What are you doing?”

“That’s Luciel,” said Zen, almost sounding bored. “He’s a detective with Scotland Yard. They say he’s the best…if a bit odd.”

With a thoughtful expression, he rose to his feet and lifted her hand into his, turning it over and over in his grip. His hands were gentle and his face was familiar, even though she knew they had never met.

“Now, Luciel,” said Mr Han, “I want this woman arrested forthwith.”

“What?!” Areum gasped.

“You are a trespasser in my store,” he said. “I don’t know what you intended, but-”

“I did not mean to trespass, sir! The door was open!”

Her comment caught the attentions of everyone in the room.

“ _Pre_ posterous,” said Mr Han.

“Actually,” said Luciel, letting go of her hand, “I think she’s telling the truth. I examined the front door with Miss Kang and we agreed that there was no sign of interference. From the looks of her I would add it’s very unlikely she’s a thief by profession.”

“I don’t know,” said Zen. “She certainly stole my heart.”

Jumin sighed.

“From the look of her dress, she is a maid, but take note of the burns on her hands and the sheen of her shoes,” said the strange Luciel. “She is under the honest employ of a family in this area, I’d say, and most likely gained those injuries by arranging the hair of a lady, not by thievery.”

“Well then,” said Yoosung, as the woman-Miss Kang, presumably- returned. “So it’s all a misunderstanding?”

“Not quite,” said Miss Kang. “What brings a lady’s maid here?”

“Oh, that’s Miss Kang, Jumin’s valet,” said Zen.

“Valet?!” Areum said, wondering if it was proper to pass comment on the fact that a valet was almost always a man, and Miss Kang was a woman of apparently the same age as Areum herself.

“She does raise a good point,” said Mr Han, ignoring the question. “We chose this store for the fact that no one came to visit and I doubt a lady would send one of her staff to choose an antique she had never seen.”

“I wasn’t sent by anyone,” she said. “I was following-”

She stopped, realising that she probably should not admit to following strangers through the streets of London with a detective present. It was too late to retract it, however, so she recounted the strange behaviour of her master and the man she bumped into in the street.

“This man,” said Luciel, “did he have white hair and green eyes?”

“Yes,” said Areum. “Do you know him?”

Her answer sent a ripple throughout the room. Yoosung gasped, Zen and Miss Kang both groaned and Mr Han and Luciel sighed wholeheartedly.

“Perhaps we should explain what we do here,” said Luciel, taking a few steps towards the fireplace and peering around the enormous chair in front of it. “Perhaps you should explain this part, boss!”

Up until that point, Areum had not realised that, including herself, there was a seventh person in the room. The gentleman that rose out of the chair had previously been sitting so quietly and so still that she had not noticed him at all, which seemed something of an irony now that she looked upon him; he dressed as finely as Mr Han and his hair was a luminous shade, the likes of which she had never seen before.

“I am Jihyun Kim,” he said reaching a hand for her to shake, “and I apologise for this inconvenience.”

“Are you a detective?” Areum breathed, which brought a wide smile to his face.

“I…” He glanced across at Luciel. “Ah. I am not actually Luciel’s boss. I’m a photographer, actually, although slightly more importantly I am the leader of this group! A few years ago, my dearly departed and I gathered our connections to raise funds and better improve the lives of the impoverished and needy of this country.”

“That’s a noble calling,” said Areum.

“Indeed,” said Mr Kim. “We changed the lives of many, but I fear that we were never quite able to fulfill the vision my Rika had when first we started.”

“And now there’s that strange cult,” chipped in Luciel, which seemed bring a bitter taste to his mouth.

“That too.”

“For the past six months, I’ve been investigating a new religious order that’s been gaining a surge in popularity in London’s elite,” said Luciel. “It’s called Mint Eye and every story I’ve heard about it makes me like it even less, though I can’t find a single shared detail in any of my open cases, with the exception of that white haired gentleman.”

“If he’s snooping on our meetings, that must mean he’s got ideas for us,” said Miss Kang.

“What if they’re going to come for us next?” Yoosung cried out, burying his face in Miss Kang’s shoulder and earning a swift box to the ears in response.

Luciel sighed and took off his glasses in order to rub the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll admit that… is a possibility.”

And in that moment, there was uproar. A hubbub of five different protests to the situation, which only petered down when Areum herself cried out.

“I have to leave! I need to be home for dinner tonight! That man with the white hair is going to meet with my master and the housekeeper is going to be so cross if I-”

“I am afraid that leaving is quite out of the question,” said Mr Han. “You may not have intended to rob me, but that does not mean that you are a person of moral character.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that he’s right,” said Mr Kim. “If you are a spy, we cannot risk that you might pass on vital information about our group.”

Areum had gone from maid to thief to spy in the space of an hour and her head was still in a spin.

“I…I don't…”

“What do you suggest, Luciel? This is a rather unusual predicament,” said Mr Han.

Luciel considered his words and then nodded.

“I suggest we keep an eye on Miss…”

“Areum”

“…Miss Areum for now. We should not dismiss the facts that she has presented before us, nor that she may in fact be the person most in danger. As such, I suggest that she stays under the care of our group for the time being, with her comings and goings under constant surveillance.”

“But!” 

She spluttered, though nobody seemed to be listening.

“If it is to be surveillance, she is better off with you, Luciel, surely,” said Miss Kang, to which he shook his head.

“If Miss Areum truly is dishonest, we must give her every opportunity to expose herself,” he said.

“You just want to pull Mint Eye into the open!” Gasped Yoosung.

“That’s very true,” said Luciel. “Now then-”

He turned to her, grinning widely.

**“Who shall you be coming with?”**

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is fromthedeskofelizabeththird and if you want to yell about Jihyun Kim our lord and saviour on there, go right on.


End file.
